


Maybe, someday,

by argentconflagration



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Angst, Drabble, Hurt No Comfort, Ineffable Husbands Bingo (Good Omens), Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), heavy making out, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 22:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentconflagration/pseuds/argentconflagration
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley kiss, even though they shouldn't, and realize how hard it's going to be to never do that again.





	Maybe, someday,

They have a lapse in judgement somewhere in the late 20th century, getting closer to each other than they’ve ever let themselves get before, hands in each other’s hair, tongues sliding against each other, Crowley climbing into Aziraphale’s lap.

The minute it starts to happen Aziraphale knows it was a mistake, that they need to never do this again, but that just means he doesn’t want to stop, because this needs to last … forever, really.

Every time Aziraphale hears Crowley’s soft gasp against his skin, it just deepens his dread that maybe they won’t ever be able to put this back in the bottle. They _know_ now, so what if they can’t ever deny this to themselves again, now that they’ve tasted it? What if this is the road to destruction that they’ll never be able to get off of?

And afterwards, Aziraphale tries so, so hard to put things back the way they were. He stands up and spends far too long readjusting his lapels, straightening his bow tie, smoothing out his coat, as if he can undo what just happened. But he can’t, he knows he can’t, he ends up shuddering into Crowley’s chest as the guilt hits him— the sick, paralyzing guilt that Heaven instills, of course, but also the raw and desperate guilt of knowing that his love could destroy Crowley.

Crowley’s at a loss to console him, because there’s so much he _wants_ to say— he wants to tell Aziraphale it’s okay, he has no regrets, he’d do it again in a heartbeat— but he knows those aren’t things that Aziraphale could handle right now. To Aziraphale, the fact that they exchanged kisses and not words is the sole sliver of consolation in this mess. That the only words were the shallow gasps of _Crowley_ and _Aziraphale _as they moved against each other, and not the things they kept hidden in their hearts. None of the words that would make it impossible to ever bear again being apart from Crowley. No “I love you,” no “I would do anything for you,” no “I want all this and so much more.” No “I will try so hard to forget this, every day that I continue to exist, but I’m never going to be able to.”

Because he knows _he’ll_ never be able to forget the feeling of Crowley pressed against him, or the taste of his skin, or the sounds that escaped him involuntarily. He’ll never go another night without thinking of the awe and desire in Crowley’s gold-filled eyes when he pulled back, only to kiss him again the next second.

But he has to bear it, somehow. It’s Crowley’s life on the line. He’d do anything to protect him, even hurting him. Even hurting both of them.

Maybe, someday, they can go for a picnic. Or dine at the Ritz.

Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> I never write things this short, and I never write angst, so I guess there's a first time for everything! I've been a little fixated on the angstier side of the 6000 years of pining lately -- the fear, the guilt, the feeling of rejection, the loneliness -- so this burst forth from my consciousness. It's not exactly what I meant to write for the prompt "Terror", but I guess it fits well enough, so I'm counting it. 
> 
> Find me at [argentconflagration](https://argentconflagration.tumblr.com) or [6000yearsofsexualtension](https://6000yearsofsexualtension.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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